


Generic Angry Slogan

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Appendicitis, Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Illnesses, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Enjolras has a stomach ache, things escalate quickly, and a hospital stint may just ruin Les Amis' protest plans and whatever is going on between Enjolras and Grantaire.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [@wise-up-eyes-up](https://tmblr.co/mrM42jk4o2t3bXFS6a09GEg), who requested Enjolras hurt/comfort with ExR and sick!fic and vulnerability and, well, kind of. But some of the hurt is of his own making, so. There is that.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Enjolras leaned against the table in the back room of the Musain, wincing and rubbing his stomach. “Tummy ache?” Courfeyrac asked cheerfully as he dropped his bag onto a chair.  


“Since Combeferre isn’t here to roll his eyes at you for calling it a ‘tummy’, I’ll have to,” Enjolras replied in lieu of an answer.

Courfeyrac grinned fleetingly, though his smile quickly turned into a frown. “But seriously, are you feeling ok? You look a little pale.” He _tsk_ -ed loudly. “You didn’t try cooking for yourself again, did you? Because you know that you’re not allowed to do that.”

Enjolras laughed but winced again. “Don’t make me laugh,” he warned Courfeyrac, his voice light despite the look on his face.

If anything, Enjolras’s warning only made Courfeyrac more worried, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Grantaire slumped into the room at that moment, followed by Joly and Bossuet, and Enjolras carefully made his way over to their table. “Joly, do you have any ibuprofen?”

Joly slowly pulled off his scarf, frowning at Enjolras. “Of course, both regular strength and prescription, but if you’re having indigestion or anything like that, ibuprofen won’t help.”

“It’s not indigestion,” Enjolras told him, making a face as he prodded his stomach lightly. “It’s a cramp. I just need some ibuprofen and it’ll go away.”

Joly’s forehead puckered and he was about to say something more when Bossuet slipped his arms around Joly from behind and kissed his cheek. “Just give the man some ibuprofen,” he told Joly. “He’s an adult, he can take care of himself.”

Grantaire snorted. “Since when?” he asked.

Everyone ignored him. “Here,” Joly said, digging in his bag and pulling out a pill bottle, which he handed to Enjolras. “Take two, but promise me if your stomach still hurts in the morning, you’ll actually go see a doctor.”

“Of course,” Enjolras promised, flashing Joly a slightly strained grin. “But I’m sure come morning, I’ll be right as rain.”

He made his way back to the front table and sank down in his chair, wincing. As he pried open the bottle, he almost accidentally poured out all of the pills when Grantaire said in his ear, “You have no intention of actually going to the doctor, do you?”

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras practically yelped, glaring up at Grantaire. “What the hell?”

“Sorry,” Grantaire said, sounding anything but, and he dropped into the chair next to Enjolras. “But you know damn well you’re not going to go to the doctor. Remember that time at the protest?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Grantaire--” he started, before frowning thoughtfully. “Wait, which time at which protest?”

Grantaire laughed. “See, that’s my point. But specifically, the time you, I don’t know, got shot.”

Scowling, Enjolras looked away, rubbing his stomach distractedly. “That was different,” he told Grantaire.

“Oh, yeah?” Grantaire said, raising an eyebrow. “Because if memory serves, you didn’t go to the doctor when you promised literally everyone that you would, and then the wound got infected and you were in the hospital for, what, a week? Do you want a repeat performance of that?”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll actually go to the doctor tomorrow -- _if_ my stomach still hurts.”

“Good,” Grantaire said, smiling at Enjolras and nudging him companionably before standing, his smile melting off his face when Enjolras winced. “Sorry.”

Enjolras just waved him off weakly and Grantaire returned to his table, his expression troubled. Combeferre took Grantaire’s seat, frowning at Enjolras. “If you’re too sick--” he started, but Enjolras cut him off with a glare.

“I am _not_ too sick,” he said hotly, standing abruptly to start the meeting. “Alright, everyone,” he said loudly. “Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today in preparation for the protest coming up.” He paused, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “We, uh, we need to, um, make sure we cover everything.”

From the back of the room, Grantaire called, “You said that already.”

Enjolras scowled at him, but Grantaire’s comment seemed to give him temporary strength, and he let go of the table. “Right, so as I was saying--”

As he continued, Grantaire turned to Joly, his brow furrowed. “Joly, I really think there’s something wrong with Enjolras. He doesn’t look good at all.”

“Words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Joly said with a smirk, and when Grantaire just glared at him, he frowned and looked over at Enjolras. “Ok, so he looks a little more tired than usual, and I am worried about his stomach pain, but he _is_ a big boy and can take care of himself, and I’m sure if something was seriously wrong--”

Without warning, Enjolras collapsed, crumpling to the floor. Grantaire was out of his seat like a shot, making it to Enjolras’s side before half the room even realized what happened. “Call 911,” he half-shouted, panicking, as he grabbed Enjolras’s shoulder and shook it. “I swear to God, Enjolras, if you die, I will kill you.”

Joly pushed Grantaire gently aside, already in doctor mode. “Careful,” he told Grantaire. “He might have hit his head when he fell. Don’t move him -- he’ll need to have his neck supported when the paramedics move him.”

“We have a medical emergency,” Combeferre said calmly into his phone, though his knuckles were white from how tightly he gripped it as he watched Joly carefully examine Enjolras while everyone else gathered around, muttering to each other in hushed voices. “Yes, my friend collapsed. He was complaining of stomach pains.” He covered the phone with his hand. “Is he feverish?”

Joly shook his head. “Low grade, possibly. He is a little clammy. His stomach is rigid. Tell the operator I suspect appendicitis.”

Grantaire looked wildly around. “Appendicitis isn’t bad, right? People get that all the time. When was the last time someone died from appendicitis?”

“Unfortunately, I have a bad feeling that Enjolras’s appendix might have ruptured, which makes things a little more serious, but once the doctors get him into surgery, they’ll be able to tell us more.”

Combeferre hung up the phone. “An ambulance is on the way,” he told them. “Everyone, go home. I’ll wait for the paramedics and go with Enjolras to the hospital. Once I know more, I’ll let everyone know.”

Though most of the group heeded Combeferre’s words, pausing only whisper words of encouragement to Enjolras before leaving, Grantaire stayed where he was, holding Enjolras’s limp hand in his. “Grantaire,” Combeferre said quietly. “You should go. There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Grantaire looked up at Combeferre, his eyes red. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

For a moment, Combeferre hesitated, looking torn, but then he sighed and clapped Grantaire on the shoulder. “Fine. Then you wait for the paramedics and go in the ambulance with Enjolras. I’m going to get my car and meet you over there. Ok?”

Grantaire just nodded, already looking back down at Enjolras, his jaw set. “Hang in there,” he told Enjolras, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Enjolras blinked. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead, and everything seemed too bright. He groaned, trying to decide which was worse: the pain in his stomach or the dryness of his mouth. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice said, and Enjolras groaned. “C’mon, open those pretty eyes.”

“Where am I?” Enjolras managed finally, opening his eyes and blinking at the unfamiliar taupe walls. He felt someone squeeze his hand and he turned to find Grantaire sitting in the chair next to his bed, a tired smile on his face. “Grantaire?”

Grantaire’s smile wavered slightly. “You’re in the hospital,” he said carefully. “It’s Wednesday. You’ve been out for a couple days, but I’m really glad to see you’re awake now.” Enjolras just stared at him, expression blank, and Grantaire sighed. “Do you remember how your stomach hurt?”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Still kinda does,” he said, shifting slightly.

Grantaire frowned. “Your meds must be wearing off,” he said, reaching over Enjolras to press the button placed next to Enjolras’s other hand. “That should get your morphine drip started again.”

“Morphine?” Enjolras asked thickly. “Why do I need morphine?”

“Because they had to cut your stomach open to take out your appendix,” Grantaire told him patiently. “That’s what happens when your appendix bursts. And since it’s very painful, they gave you morphine to make you feel better.”

Enjolras hummed appreciatively, the morphine already taking effect. “All better now,” he told Grantaire.

Grantaire laughed, but there was something strange in his laugh. “Almost, anyway,” he said, rubbing his thumb over Enjolras’s knuckles. “A few more days in the hospital, and you’ll be good as new.”

“A few -- hang on,” Enjolras said, struggling to sit up, a frown creasing his forehead. “A few days? I can’t be in here for a few more days. We’ve got the protest on Saturday!”

“Well, the protest is just going to have to go on without you,” Grantaire told him patiently. “You have to stay here and get better.”

Enjolras glared at him. “No, I have to be out there getting our message out because that’s what I do,” he snapped. “And I’m not going to let something stupid like this keep me from doing what I have to do, something that’s actually important.” He snorted derisively. “Not that you’d understand what that’s like, since that would require you to actually care about something for once in your life.”

Grantaire stared at him, a brief look of hurt flashing across his face. “I wouldn’t understand what that’s like?” he repeated quietly.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Enjolras said stubbornly, leaning back against his pillows and trying to cross his arms in front of his chest, wincing when the movement pulled at his stitches.

Grantaire dropped Enjolras’s hand and leaned back from the bed. “Well, be that as it may,” he said, his voice a little too loud and a little too flat, “right now you have to get some sleep, which is something I understand. So close your eyes, get some rest, since the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll get out of here and back to things you care about.”

Enjolras glared at him, wanting to argue more, but his eyelids felt heavy and his head seemed to be filling with clouds. “Fine,” he managed, his eyes already closing despite himself. “But I don’t have to like it.”

Grantaire’s quiet comment, “You don’t have to like anything you don’t want to”, was the last thing Enjolras heard before he fell back asleep.

* * *

When Enjolras next woke up, Grantaire was gone, and the nurse that came in to check on him didn’t seem to know where he went. Enjolras slumped against the pillows, feeling oddly lonely. His brooding was only interrupted by a knock on the door, and Enjolras looked over so quickly that his neck cracked. “Grantaire?” he asked, almost relieved.

But it wasn’t Grantaire. “Sorry to disappoint,” Combeferre said, sitting down next to Enjolras’s bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, a little sullenly. “My stitches itch like crazy and the nurse said I can’t go home until I can at least keep fluids down, which thus far I’m having no luck with. Oh, and the protest is on Saturday so I’m definitely not going to be ready for that.” Combeferre made a sympathetic noise and raised an eyebrow at Enjolras, who sighed heavily. “Fine, and I had a fight with Grantaire.”

Now Combeferre had a knowing look on his face, and he nodded slowly. “Dare I ask what you and Grantaire fought about?” Enjolras just shrugged and Combeferre sighed. “Well, if it helps any, you should know that from the moment you passed out to the moment you finally woke up, Grantaire never left. Even when we all told him he was starting to smell.”

Enjolras stared up at the ceiling. “How is that supposed to _help_?” he asked.

Combeferre shrugged. “You never know,” he said, his tone turning brisk. “Now, before we get to work on protest planning, I promised everyone that I would give you all their love and that they wish they could come see you. Everyone’s hoping to get off work tomorrow afternoon, but in the meantime--” He sighed and stood before offering his fist for a fist bump. “From Bossuet.” He slugged Enjolras’s shoulder. “From Bahorel.” He gave Enjolras a high-five. “From Feuilly.” He kissed Enjolras’s cheek. “From Jehan.” He kissed Enjolras’s forehead. “From Joly.” He sighed again and made a face. “And from Courfeyrac…”

He leaned in and pecked Enjolras on the lips.

Enjolras made a face. “Really, Courf?” he said, bemused.

“It could be worse,” Combeferre grumbled, sitting back down. “He wanted me to kiss you with tongue.”

Enjolras snorted. “What about from Grantaire?”

“That definitely would require tongue,” Combeferre said, more under his breath than to Enjolras, who scowled at him.

“And what about from you?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Combeferre said, smiling blithely at him as he gently set Enjolras’s laptop on his lap. “I brought you work.”

Enjolras grinned. “My hero.”

Combeferre smirked. “Yeah. I know.” He glanced at Enjolras. “So are you going to apologize to Grantaire?”

Enjolras made a face again, already absorbed in his laptop. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll apologize when he comes to visit with everyone else. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Combeferre said dryly. “Now let’s get to work.”

* * *

But Grantaire didn’t come back. Everyone visited the following day as promised, and while Enjolras found himself laughing and soaking up all the attention from his friends, he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. And while plans were in place for the protest, even though Enjolras couldn’t be there, as Saturday approached, Enjolras’s mood grew worse.

After he made one nurse cry and another threaten to quit, the head nurse poked her head into his room. “Are you done harassing my staff?” she scolded.

Enjolras sighed. “Sorry Nurse Simplice,” he said, a little shamefacedly. 

“Look, it’s a beautiful day, and the doctor wants you up and walking to make sure you’re all healed. Why don’t we go take a walk outside?” Simplice suggested.

Enjolras glanced slyly at her. “Do you think we could take a walk down to city hall?” Simplice merely raised an eyebrow at him and Enjolras sighed again. “Well, it was worth a try.”

A few minutes later, after Simplice had gotten Enjolras’s IV transferred to a mobile pole and gotten Enjolras into a robe since the hospital gowns did such a poor job of covering his butt, Enjolras held onto Simplice’s arm as she walked him out the front door of the hospital. “See?” she said, patting his arm. “The sun feels so good, doesn’t it? And oh -- what’s this?”

For about fifty feet away from the entrance to the hospital, a small group of people were milling around with protest signs. And right in the center of them, a protest sign proclaiming, “Down with this sort of thing” in one hand and a megaphone in the other, was Grantaire. “What do we want?” he shouted into the megaphone.

“Pie!” the protesters called back.

“When do we want it?”

“Pie!”

Grantaire glanced over and saw Enjolras, a grin lighting his face up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “we have been graced with the god of protests. Join us, fearless leader. We’re directionless without you.”

Enjolras could barely believe it as he made his way slowly over. “What’s all this?” he asked, reaching out to pull Grantaire into a one-armed hug.

“Well, I knew you wanted to be at the protest downtown but couldn’t, so I figured I’d bring a little bit of it to you,” Grantaire said, his cheeks slightly pink. “The hospital said we couldn’t protest anything specific, so I whipped up some generic signs and got a few performance arts students to see this as exhibition opportunity and viola!” He gestured towards the guy behind him who was proudly hoisting his ‘Generic Angry Slogan’ sign. “It may not be everything you wanted, but…”

He trailed off, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground, and Enjolras beamed at him. “I think it’s amazing,” he told Grantaire honestly, and he reached out to grab Grantaire’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you.”

Grantaire smiled at him. “For what?” he asked, mostly teasing, but Enjolras responded seriously.

“For everything,” he said simply. “For caring. I’m sorry for what I said before -- you do care, and you’ve done so much for me.”

Grantaire half-shrugged, still smiling. “It’s nothing.”

Enjolras looked at him for a long moment. “It really isn’t,” he said, pulling Grantaire to him and kissing him. 

Grantaire kissed him back for a moment before pulling away slightly. “Is this from the morphine?” he asked, though he was smiling.

“Shut up,” Enjolras told him, kissing him again. “Or I’ll put you in the hospital.”

Grantaire grinned. “I don’t know, if I get morphine and if they put my bed in the same room as yours, might just be worth it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he repeated, jutting his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “After all, I’m sick. Aren’t you supposed to do what I want?”

“Oh, so _now_ you admit you’re sick,” Grantaire grumbled.

Enjolras huffed a sigh. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

This time, Grantaire was more than happy to comply.  



End file.
